


Kiss

by quillquiver



Series: Angel's First [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Frottage, Love Confessions, M/M, New Year's Eve, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 22:51:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1281706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillquiver/pseuds/quillquiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is not jealous. There is no way Dean is jealous. Because if Dean is jealous, that means a lot of things; things Dean is not thinking about, or talking about, or acknowledging. At all. Seriously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I am SO SORRY this is so late, but I was lacking inspiration... Hopefully the length and sexy times make up for it, though. I swear, this was only supposed to be 'First Kiss' and then Cas and Dean just kinda ran away from me. They're horny little buggers. Hope you enjoy :)

Dean is not jealous.

There is no way Dean is jealous.

So what if he hasn’t spoken to Cas since Christmas? So what if they never make eye contact anymore? So what if, as a result, Sam and Cas are acting like bffs, complete with bonding over geekery and possibly braiding Sam’s hair?

Dean isn’t jealous.

Because if Dean is jealous, that means a lot of things; things Dean is not thinking about, or talking about, or acknowledging. At all. Seriously.

He also isn’t pissed. Or upset. Just for the record.

Taking a vicious bite of his toast, the eldest Winchester reaches forward, obsessively looking over the articles he’s printed out. The case is in New York; twenty victims over the past thirty years, all males aged nineteen years, all in the same house. Frowning, Dean spreads the papers out over the table. He’s heard of this house before, hasn’t he? Something about- _Fuck them and their goddamn chuckling._ Looking up with a glare, Dean clenches his jaw. Sam and Cas are sitting at the table at the far end of the library, huddled together—way too closely, in Dean’s not-jealous opinion— and giggling like a couple of schoolgirls. “Hey ladies, you mind keeping it down?” the hunter grouses. “Some of us are trying to work, here.”

For the first time in precisely five days, Dean and Cas are making eye contact.

Dean can see Castiel swallow thickly from the other end of the room, the bright blue of his eyes dimming as the smile fades from his face. Nodding curtly, the former angel looks down at the brick of a book he and Sam had been discussing.

Dean clenches his fist, trying not to acknowledge the way his stomach churns and his chest constricts. He is not successful. Moving back to his work, the hunter tries to concentrate, the words of each article blurring and melding together into some incohesive blob that makes no sense. He refuses to get up and go somewhere else, not after the stare down with Cas, so he forces himself to make sense of the papers in front of him, taking another huge, vicious bite of toast to try and calm the burning in his gut.

It doesn’t help, but Dean eventually figures out what’s killing nineteen year-old boys in New York: The Davreau family were well-to-do in the 40s; conservative, rich, high society types… When their nineteen year-old son, Timothy, was caught getting busy with his common and lowly best friend, Daniel, Tim’s parents had freaked out. Dad had taken his son to the city while Mom had stayed behind, luring Daniel to their estate where she tried, and failed, to murder her son’s lover, ending up dead herself. If the tales are to be believed (which they often are, or some permutation of them), Marilyn Davreau has been killing every nineteen year-old boy to enter her house.

Funnily enough, this story doesn’t make Dean feel any better.

He briefly wonders why it couldn't have been lesbians. Because really, other than Charlie, how many lesbians does he know? Not many, if any at all. They can't all be hiding. Where are they? Where are the lesbian ghosts? Why does it feel like everywhere there's gay, he's being bombarded with the penis-loving kind? It's unfair, is what it is, to both Dean and to the lesbians. They should get more representation. The lesbians. Not Dean. Dean isn’t gay. Bisexual. Whatever.

He needs some air. 

When Dean re-enters the Bunker an hour later, Sam is on his way out. The eldest hunter only just has time to ask where his little brother is headed as whirlwind Sam Winchester almost bowls him over in his haste to leave the building. “Woah woah,” Dean mutters. “Slow down there, Sasquatch. Where d’you think you’re going?"

Sam raises an unimpressed brow. “To meet Diana,” he replies slowly, making like Dean is an idiot. “Like I’ve told you _seven times._ I’m spending New Year’s Eve with her.”

And of course, Dean is aware of this, but Sammy must be smoking something, because there’s no way in hell it’s— _Fuck_. It’s New Year’s Eve. “Wait, so you’re just _going_?” Dean asks.

“Uh… _yeah._ ” Sam pauses. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothin’,” the gigantor shrugs. “Just that I guess you and Cas are gonna have to work things out now.”

“Bitch!” Dean yells as Sam walks out the door.

“Happy New Year, Jerk!”

And that’s how Dean spends the entire night in his room.

Well, almost.

It isn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Cas… Of course he does. And he would have, too, if there had been anything to talk about. Honestly. If Dean had had a serious desire to speak with Castiel, he would have gone to the library, or the lounge area, or later, to Cas’ damn bedroom and struck up a conversation with the guy. There just isn’t anything pressing. Really.

When Dean reads the same sentence five times in a row and still has no idea what the fuck was going on, he grudgingly admits that he misses the nerdy little dude.

When going to Sam’s room with the intent of watching TV and seeing Cas there is enough to make the hunter head for the hills, Dean decides something needs to be done. Maybe he can’t talk to Cas. Maybe he's too embarrassed and ashamed to even be in the same room as him, but this shit has to stop if it's gonna interfere with Dr. Sexy. It's fine today, because today's a re-run, but when the new season starts next week?

Dean will not miss Dr. Sexy.

So, the hunter slips into the kitchen in the hopes of making amends. It isn't like they have anything ground-breaking in the fridge, but Sam always makes sure there's an impressive stock of fruits and veggies. Leafing through an old recipe book before deciding to just do his own thing, Dean gets to work. One thing about raising your little brother from A to Z? You sure as shit know your way around a kitchen.

So, Dean makes a nice meal. He makes cream of leek soup, and a roast with grilled veggies, and mashed potatoes. He even goes hunting for a bottle of wine. And when it's all ready, Dean is proud. Maybe even ecstatic, because Cas appreciates things, and he’ll sure as hell appreciate this.

He's a little concerned when the former angel doesn't come snooping around to see what he's up to, but all in all, Dean is feeling good.

…Until he sees Castiel on Sam’s bed, elbows deep in a bag of dried fruit.

Dean isn’t sure if he should be upset that the guy is clearly spoiling his dinner, or the fact that Cas is elbows deep in a Costco-sized bag of _dried fruit_. Granted, it's the cool fruit, like kiwi and mango and shit, but it's still _not chips_. The hunter allows himself to wonder where Cas even got the damn thing before he remembers that his brother is a crazy health freak.

Obviously, this is all Sam’s fault.

“Dean? Is there something you need?”

For just a second, everything feels like it was before, and Dean nearly slumps to the floor with relief… but Cas’ tone falls flat real quick, and the hunter is left feeling like he's been dropped thirty feet and onto hard pavement.

“Nah, man, I just… You want some dinner?”

Castiel looks caught off-guard. “I- No, thank you,” he replies. “I was under the impression we’d be finding our own sustenance this evening.” He nods to an empty bowl that clearly used to have some sort of multigrain cereal in it. There’s a glass of milk on the bedside table.

Dean is going to destroy Sam’s mini fridge.

“Right. Yeah, no, that’s… that’s cool.”

Even though it isn’t. In fact, it's like the furthest thing from okay, but the hunter can’t really blame him. They’d been doing their own thing, even at mealtimes, for five days now. Dean should have expected Cas to just make himself something again.

“I hope you didn’t do anything with me in mind?” Castiel’s tone is legitimately concerned, like he literally can’t think of anything more stressful than having Dean make too much food, or do something special only to be turned away. Dean’s knees almost buckle with relief at the knowledge that his best friend obviously doesn’t _completely_ hate his guts… Which is pathetic, and possibly a little worrisome, but Dean is too damn happy to care.

“Nah, I just made a roast and stuff. No big deal. I wanted to know how many potatoes to make.”

Lies. Dinner is on the table, and it has all been done for Cas. All of it. In fact, short of having a freaking candle as a centerpiece, the whole thing looks like something from a chick flick…. Dean even got out the nice tablecloth and set the table.

This is something he’s trying not to think about.

Dean eats alone, and he doesn’t touch the alcohol.

The hunter is sulking in his room again, alternating between pacing, trying to sleep, listening to music, and reading. At some point, he tries to masturbate to get his mind off of everything, but the only girl he's even remotely attracted to at the moment has dark hair and blue eyes, and that’s a can of worms Dean is already actively avoiding. So, instead, he ditches the porn mags (which is something he’s _never_ done before,) and decides to clean his guns.

That doesn’t take nearly as long as he thought it would.

Dean honestly can’t remember what happens between then and seven minutes to midnight, only that he’s managed to, once again, be in the doorway of Sam’s room. “Uh, hey.”

“Hello.”

Cas has this barely-there smile on his face, and he seems relaxed and happy, if a little guarded. Either way, Dean finds the courage to step into the room, hands behind his back. The hunter’s features are schooled and he’s trying not to fidget when he sees what’s on the screen. New Year’s Eve. _New Year’s Eve._

Fuck no.

“’The hell are you watching?!” And maybe his tone is a little harsh, but come on, this is  _sacrilege._

Once again, Castiel’s tone is flat. His body becomes rigid. “It’s educational.”

“Cas, this is a chick flick.” Dean wants to kick himself, he really does, but he can’t stop. Mostly because Cas is doing this all _wrong_. The former angel’s First New Year’s should be spent eating and drinking and laughing and he should be kissed at midnight and watch the stupid New Year’s show where the Ball drops in New York City. He shouldn’t be rotting his human brain with this  _garbage_.

Castiel is frowning.

“This is a romantic comedy…” the hunter prompts. “Dude, it’s not a documentary.”

“I didn’t assume the stories to be fact, Dean,” Cas replies, a little harsh. “Contrary to what you may believe, I am not a complete moron.”

“Cas-”

“I wanted to learn about New Year’s Eve,” the former angel grits out. “Sam told me to ask you about it, but as we’re not on speaking terms at the moment, I turned to other methods of research.”

“And?”

“And, this holiday is very confusing. I understand you celebrate it to ring in the New Year, but each storyline is more improbable than the last, and everybody celebrates differently. The only consistent tradition seems to be to kiss a loved one at midnight.”

Dean nods, not even bothering to ask for permission as he swallows his nerves and sits himself down on the bed. Of course, because Castiel is smack dab in the middle of the thing, they’re touching each other. Also, the remote is on Cas’ other side and Dean has to lean across the guy because that’s just his life.

He changes the channel without a second thought, and Castiel looks like he doesn’t know whether to be confused or angry.

Dean totally understands.

“Look,” the hunter begins. “This is what you watch on New Year’s Eve. Every year, they set up this big Ball-thing in New York City, and it drops at midnight. Don’t ask me why, but it’s what we do.”

_Two minutes to midnight._

Castiel’s eyes are glued to the screen.

“They have a whole bunch of celebrities and musical guests, and people go out in the cold and wait for it. It’s this huge crazy party. I’ve never been ‘cause it’s cold as balls over there, but people seem to like it.”

Carefully, Dean’s fingers brush Castiel’s hand. He almost visibly swallows. If the hunter can do anything right tonight, he can teach his angel about New Year’s Eve properly.

Cas is resolutely staring ahead.

“Some people spend the night alone, watching TV or doing nothing or whatever, but most folks spend it with friends or family. Sometimes both.”

Dean laces their fingers together, face flushed as he keeps his eyes on the screen. He can feel Cas staring.

_One minute._

“I’ve only ever gone out and gotten wasted and whatever, but Sam spent a New Year’s Eve with Jess and they went over to her house. He said she had her family over. They had a really nice, fancy meal and turned up the radio real high and danced and stuff. He had fun.”

_Thirty seconds._

“All in all, it’s a pretty flexible holiday.”

Cas looks back at the screen, but he’s holding tight to Dean’s hand.

_Twenty-five seconds._

“The only thing you really need is to spend it with people you care about. It’s no fun to be alone. Oh, and you don’t have to kiss anybody.”

“You don’t?”

They’re looking at each other, but Cas immediately turns back to the screen when he hears people yelling: “TEN!"

_Nine._

“Nah,” Dean answers, attention shifting to the TV. _Eight._ “But most people do, if they’re with someone they love.”

_Seven._

“Oh.”

_Six._

The hunter feels Castiel’s gaze on him for only a moment before he’s staring at the television again.

_Five._

“Four,” Dean murmurs.

He shifts closer to Cas on the bed so they’re almost completely flush. “Three.”

“Two.” It’s said in unison, and Dean can’t stop himself from smiling and looking over to his companion, who can only be described as glowing with excitement at this point. He’s squeezing Dean’s hand tightly, eyes glued to the screen as he leans forward, baggy tee hanging off his frame and sweatpants pushed up to his knees.

“One.” The word is breathed into Castiel’s ear, and the former angel snaps his head around, eyes wide and cheeks flushing as the TV explodes with noise and confetti and well-wishes.

“Happy New Year, Cas.”

Dean kisses him.

It isn’t long or Earth-shattering. In fact, as far as kisses go, it’s extremely soft and chaste. Doves don’t sing, there are no fireworks, and no cheesy love song plays in the background. It’s just… them. Him and Cas. And it’s nice and warm and when Dean pulls away, he wants to do it again. Because the warmth is addictive. It makes his stomach drop and his limbs go weirdly weak and all of it feels so much like home it almost hurts. In the end, it’s weirdly good. Maybe even perfect, if you were into saying that sorta stuff.

Either way, both men are blushing when it’s over.

Dean is smiling widely. Maybe he’ll regret this later, when he’s alone with his thoughts, but right now, all the hunter can feel is elation.

Castiel is touching his lips in fascination. “…You kissed me.”

“Well, yeah.” Dean grins. Because now Cas knows. It was scary as all hell, but now Castiel is aware that Dean has feelings for him, and that those feelings are labeled under ‘love’ (because he’d explicitly said that you kiss people you love on New Year’s Eve). It was stupid, he thinks, to have waited five days to do this. And it was doubly stupid not to kiss Cas properly under the mistletoe. His angel gets it. His angel gets _him-_

“Why did you do that?” Castiel is frowning. He looks almost angry, and suddenly, Dean is very unsure. His stomach turns to lead. “ _Why_?” Cas demands.

Dean’s heart is in his throat. “Because, I…” But he can’t say it. He can’t get the words out, not because they’re false, but because they’re stuck. He’s almost choking with girly confessions of love and devotion but it’s like his dad is there, sitting across the room and glaring him and it’s all too much— “Dammit, Cas, do I really need to say it?!”

“The fact that you’re asking that question proves we have nothing to talk about.”

And now Dean is desperate. Because Cas has to understand. They’ve always been on the same wavelength and now the former angel needs to get it and _he’s not_. “What, because I won’t pour my heart out like a girl? You fucking know I don’t do that!”

“You amaze me,” Castiel mutters. “Truly. I will never understand your obsession with gender and the strength you associate with each... Dean, I’m not asking you to tell me anything you don’t already feel.”

“Why!? Why can’t you just trust me?!”

“Of course I trust you! It’s _myself_ I don’t trust!”

The silence is almost crippling. 

“Being human is… difficult,” Cas explains carefully. “More difficult than I could have ever imagined. The things I want… What used to be an ache I could force myself to ignore has grown into a tidal wave of feeling and I can’t-” He pauses. “Dean, talking about what you feel does not make you any less of a man. Feeling does not make you any less of a man. But hiding? That makes you a coward. I’m not asking you to tell me what I want to hear, Dean, but I need to know. Because- because after everything, after _Christmas_ , I fear that I have misread, and-”

Dean kisses him again.

This one is hard and desperate, but somehow, still just as innocent; there is no tongue, no wandering hands… Just lips on lips, begging to be heard and understood. Begging to be _forgiven._ “Sorry. I’m sorry. Fuck. I just- You didn’t misread anything, Cas. I’m… This is- _Fuck._ ” He closes his eyes tightly. “I’m no good at this.”

“Dean-”

“I’m serious,” the hunter says, almost flinching at the ferocity with which green meets blue. “I start talking, you let me finish. And don’t expect poetry. I’m not- I’m not Sam.”

“I am keenly aware of that… Dean, we wouldn’t be having this conversation if you were anybody but yourself.”

Which makes the hunter feel worlds better. Because Cas knows him; Cas has seen all his dark parts and he’s _still_ there. Not only that, but the Fallen angel _doesn’t want him to be anybody but himself_. Taking a deep breath, Dean feels ready. He can do this. He can do this for Cas, and he can do it for himself. “I think about you,” he says quickly. “A lot. Like, more than a friend should think about another friend. Especially a straight dude about another dude.”

“Alright.”

“ _Alright_? That’s it? That’s all you got for me? I’m trying to pour my heart out, here!”

“Are you finished?”

“What? Yes! I mean, no. Maybe? Look, I just- I like you, Cas. And I know I shouldn’t, but I do. It’s actually really fuckin' inconvenient-”

“Why?”

“Because, dude… You’re like, really distracting. I mean, I feel like I’m in goddamn middle school again-”

“No, Dean, why shouldn’t you like me?”

“Because I ruined you,” he says like it’s obvious. “Because you told me you gave everything for me, and you shouldn’t have. I’m no good for you, Cas. I’m really not. And also because… I’m not used to this.” Castiel’s frown deepens, and he’s clearly about to protest when Dean interrupts. “Let me finish. Look, when I was on the road with Sammy and Dad, I never- my dad was homophobic. Or at least, I think he was. Never tested the theory or anything, ‘cause sometimes he’d get real rough with me when I didn’t listen, and never when I didn’t deserve it, but I mean, I just sorta knew that if he caught me with another guy, I’d be in some serious shit-”

“Dean.” Castiel’s fingers are brushing curiously across his cheekbone and Dean nods with a jerk of his head, his body still tensed and nervous. He’s never told anybody this before, not even Sam, but it’s scarily easy to talk to Cas. The hunter takes a deep breath.

“Right. Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Cas says softly. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

A nervous grin, clearly meant to bring light to the situation. “Sorry.”

Hesitantly, Castiel leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of the hunter’s mouth. The eldest Winchester has never really been one for words, so perhaps physical contact would relax him. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I-I know that this is hard for you,” the dark-haired man says hesitantly. “But, just remember I’m still me? I’m just Castiel. Cas. And I doubt you could say anything that would make me love you less.”

Dean’s heart is hammering wildly in his chest, and he can do little else but stare. Unfortunately, Cas takes this the wrong way.

“Obviously, I’m also quite clueless when it comes to matters of the heart,” he mutters. “I apologize if I ‘freaked you out’ or-”

A huffed laugh bubbles its way out of the hunter’s chest as he smiles, shaking his head. “No, man. You’re- you’re great, really.”

“Oh, good.”

“You are.” Those two little words are out before Dean can stop them, but Cas’ smile and blush are well worth whatever embarrassment the hunter is currently feeling. Swallowing thickly, he forces himself to ignore the mental presence of his father. “My, uh, my dad was a hard-ass, and he taught me that being man meant you were a hard-ass, and that drawing and school and reading… basically anything that wasn’t booze and women, didn’t factor into that equation. So, all the experimentation I did, I did in secret, and then that way of living just kinda stuck, you know? I mean, it wasn’t that I didn’t think about guys, I just trained myself not to go after ‘em. And you… Cas, you fucked that all up. All of it. In every way possible. I mean, hell, it isn’t even about _sex_ with you. I just- I wanna be closer? Which, I mean, I guess I’ve wanted that before, but not like this. This is damn _terrifying_. And I know it’s stupid because my old man is gone, but I still…”

“You don’t want to disappoint him.”

Dean looks up.

“Dean, if you’re not comfortable with this, it won’t happen.”

“Were you listening to a word I just said?”

“Of course I was. But if you feel that you’re not ready, or that you simply can’t do this, I will respect your wishes. I think it’s idiotic to let your deceased father dictate your life, but I won’t force you into anything. What I will do is set some misconceptions straight.”

“Misconceptions?”

“Yes. Your father was, in gentle terms, an assbutt.”

“Dude, that’s not a misconception, I’m aware.” Dean’s grin is brilliant. “And assbutt? Really?”

“If it’s good enough for Michael, it’s good enough for John Winchester,” Cas shrugs. “Especially if he was rough with you. There are actually some choice Enochian words that could perfectly describe your ‘deadbeat dad’, but I won’t taint your soul by uttering them.”

“Cas, man, he wasn’t that-”

Castiel’s face darkens. “If John Winchester ever abused you, physically or otherwise-”

“Hey hey, no need to go nuclear. Dad’s gone. And besides, I told you, I wasn’t listening. Maybe I didn’t deserve all of it, but I definitely got what was coming to me a lot of the time.”

“You can’t possibly believe that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you have _never_ deserved it! I don’t care if you stole the goddamn crown jewels!” Cas is panting, looking at Dean with such intensity that the hunter feels himself cower. This is the first time he’s ever heard Castiel truly swear, and it is terrifying. “Never, under any circumstances, should a parent abuse their child,” the blue-eyed man continues more softly. “Especially not you. You’re so good, and so kind, and full of so much love for those you care about-”

“Cas-”

“Even after all this time, you still don’t think you deserve to be saved. Dean, that cannot not be further from the truth.”

The hunter gives an embarrassed, uncomfortable laugh. Just because he’s talking about his feelings doesn’t make him magically okay with them. And compliments, especially ones said so earnestly, still make him squirm. “All that, and if I don’t want to do this, you’ll just be cool with being friends?” The teasing falls flat.

“Yes.”

Dean nods, looking away while worrying his bottom lip. “I don’t deserve you,” he mutters.

“Funny you should say that,” the former angel says conversationally. “I was thinking the same thing.”

A wry smile, eyes glued to jean-clad knees. “Nobody says stuff like that anymore, Cas. Nobody declares their undying love and whatever and then is totally cool with being friends.”

“Call me old-fashioned.”

Dean snorts. “Funny.”

“I’m learning.”

The hunter hums, the sound trailing off into silence before he clenches his jaw, unable to look at his companion. “I never could, you know. Declare that to you. I’m too selfish.” There’s a pause. “The being friends thing, I mean. Not the first part. I could say the first part, just not the second. Just to clarify.”

Dean can practically hear Cas’ smile. Gathering every ounce of courage left in his body, the hunter turns his head, lips quirking in response to Castiel’s infectious grin. The former angel shrugs. “Then I suppose it’s good you’ll never have to.”

But Cas doesn’t kiss him like Dean’s expecting. In fact, the poor guy doesn’t seem to know what to do. He wants to kiss Dean, if the way his eyes will flit to the hunter’s mouth every few seconds is anything to go by, but Castiel stays frozen, eyes wide and warm and filled with wonder. It’s almost like, now that he’s got Dean’s answer, he has absolutely no idea what to do with it other than stare on in amazement.

It occurs to Dean that this is probably what’s actually happening.

So, the hunter takes matters into his own hands. Carefully, he clears his throat, making sure Castiel’s attention is on his eyes rather than his mouth when he speaks: “You know, some people just spend this holiday with someone they’re dating. And they do… stuff. Like kissing. Lots of people make-out on New Year’s Eve.”

“And have sex?”

Dean chokes on his saliva.

“Sorry,” Cas mutters, beet red. “I-I wasn’t implying that we’d have sex, I know that we have to wait until the third date, I was just-”

“It’s, uh, it’s fine,” Dean squeaks. “Yeah, people have- wait, why do we have to wait until the third date?”

Castiel frowns. “Aren’t there certain rules to dating? I was under the impression certain things could only be done within a specific time frame.”

“Where the hell did you hear that?” the hunter asks incredulously.

“Cosmopolitan magazine. It seems to be a reputable source for dating advice among women, and as I’m also interested in courting a man…”

Dean would laugh if he wasn’t so embarrassed. Instead, he groans, shoving his face into his hands like it’s the end of the fucking world. Which, honestly, it may as well be.

Cas was gonna _Cosmo_ him.

“Dean?” The former angel’s voice is small.

The hunter looks up. “Dude, you don’t need a stupid magazine to get with me, okay? And if you have a question, just ask.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s- you didn’t know,” Dean says, trying to play it off. “It’s cool. But just for the record, we can have sex whenever we want. And even if there were rules for dating… You pulled me from Hell, man. I don’t think any normal rules could ever really apply to us.”

Castiel nods in understanding.

“Okay, so… we good?”

“Yes.”

“So we should probably get back to celebrating.”

“I think that would be best.”

“And you should probably stop biting your lip if you want me to kiss you proper.”

By this time, Dean is beyond occupying Castiel’s personal bubble. The hunter is turned, poised to climb into his angel’s lap but not daring to do so just yet. His heart is pounding and blood is rushing in his ears and there’s a flicker of John Winchester at the edge of his mind, but he swats him away. Because Cas is right: it’s stupid to want to please a ghost. Besides, if Cas thinks Dean deserves to be happy, maybe he does… and if, by some miracle, being with Dean does it for Cas, then why deny them both? John Winchester is a ghost, and though Dean knows he had his hang ups, and he’s not sure his father would ever be okay with him dating a man, he is certain that his dad loved him. John would have wanted Dean to be happy.

Cas makes him stupidly happy.

So what does it matter what package he comes in? Castiel is just a person. He’s a person who loves Dean more than the hunter thinks he has any right to be loved. Cas is awesome and badass and really cool. But he’s also really cute sometimes, and funny. And yeah, it’ll be hard to undo twenty-four years of forced behaviour, but Cas is totally worth it.

He’s willing to go slow. They guy’s been waiting for God knows how long, and even after all the shit Dean’s put him through, he’s willing to wait. He’s willing to forget about it all with a word.

Almost obsessively, the hunter watches Castiel’s teeth release his bottom lip, pink flesh slightly swollen from pressure. “Okay,” the dark-haired man says softly.

“Okay,” Dean breathes with a smile.

The kisses start off soft and chaste. Like the first one, there are no wandering hands, no desperate moans, just the press of lips on lips that makes his stomach flip. Cas is clumsy when Dean pulls away for breath, confused but not disappointed when the hunter immediately goes back in for another. And then another. And then another.

The former angel hums in approval at this pattern of: kiss, breathe, kiss, kiss, breathe, and relaxes some, fingers reaching out and brushing his companion before they pull away, unsure. In the middle of a kiss, Dean deftly threads fingers through dark hair, other hand leading Castiel’s to a freckled cheek. The hunter makes a show of pulling away and nuzzling into their hands, looking directly at his companion.

Cas kisses him again.

Though just as innocent, the former angel is more confident; touching and pulling and exploring as their mouths move together. Every touch is curious and chaste, however, with nothing but virtuous love in mind, and Dean isn’t sure if he wants to take things further, or simply bask in the glorious warmth Castiel touches him with.

Dean’s genitals have other plans.

Instinctively, the hunter opens his mouth when he goes in for another kiss, capturing Cas’ bottom lip between his own while he sucks and grate his teeth against soft flesh. There’s a moment’s pause before his angel lets slip a squeak of approval, pushing harder against Dean’s mouth in a request for more.

Dean does not deny him. The hunter nips and sucks at Cas’ lips like he’s got something to prove, grinning when his angel pulls at his hair and his shirt and his hips. He maneuvers himself into his companion’s lap, pressing them flush as he licks his way into Castiel’s mouth, swallowing sighs and little moans eagerly and with a whimper.

And then Cas is grinding into him, and Dean sees white. He pulls away with a moan, burying his face into his angel’s neck as he peppers kisses to the soft flesh, licking and biting and sucking in an attempt to quell the _minemineminemine_ running on repeat in his brain.

Dean sees white again.

“F-Fuck, _Cas_.”

Castiel is now fisting dirty blonde hair, tugging insistently in demand of more kisses as he grinds and grinds and grinds. Absently, Dean is quite sure his angel thinks this is a good way to get his attention, but with every flash of white Dean can only become more boneless. His hands deftly move to his jeans, snaking in between warm bodies and popping the button before Cas grinds down again, Dean’s hand slipping and pressing back into something hard.

He freezes as Castiel chokes out a moan, head falling onto Dean’s shoulder heavily as his hands slip to grip the hunter’s hips, chest heaving. “ _Dean._ ”

Abruptly, every single doubt is gone.

Dean scrambles to undo his zipper, only barely getting the thing down before Cas swats the appendage away in the attempt to be closer, arms tangling and they grip and slide and pull, hips angling downward and pressingpressingpress— _Oh_.

He can actually feel Cas’ sweatpants warm with come, his angel muttering in what he’s sure has to be slurred Enochian before he slumps against his partner, sweaty and panting. “Dean.” It’s said like a prayer.

“’M here.” Dean runs his fingers through dark hair, smiling despite the aching in his groin. He could get used to having a blissed out angel, he thinks as Cas smiles, wide and goofy against his neck.

“Love you,” Castiel sighs, obviously spent.

Dean kisses his head in response, shifting them to try and untangle himself in the hopes of getting to the bathroom. He can take care of himself real quick and then come back to bed… in Sam’s room.

Holy fuck, did they seriously just dry hump like teenagers in his brother’s room?

And to make matters even more hilarious, Castiel has decided he’s not going to let Dean leave. In fact, the blue-eyed man is currently glaring at his companion, arms locked around his torso tightly as he, mistakenly, grinds their hips together again. Cas, being completely satisfied, is fine… But Dean loses any and all train of thought and hisses loudly, biting his lip to keep from moaning at an embarrassing volume.

He’s like 75% sure he’s never been this hard.

“Dean?”

“Hm?” His voice is high pitched and squeaky. “’Be fine, Cas. Just lemme- gotta get to the- _Fuck._ ”

Cas is rubbing his palm against the boxer brief-covered bulge bursting from Dean’s jeans.

“Or you could stay here,” Castiel says reasonably. “I could help you.”

“I- ah, ah- _Cas_.”

“Yeah?”

They’re kissing again. It’s completely uncoordinated and messy; Cas is too blissed out to actually move fast enough, while Dean is desperate and kissing like a man starved. Their eyes are open and then they’re closed and sometimes they just breathe in each other’s space. It should be weird, and maybe it is a little, but God help him, Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything so hot as his angel in that exact moment: flushed and unfocused, mouth red and spit-slicked as they pull away. Castiel is talking, too; every word he says a beautiful song of odd sounds. Dean has no idea what the fuck he’s even saying but it’s too goddamn pretty for words and those words are for _him_.

“Dean,” Cas grunts against his mouth. “You- mmm… you should come now.”

And it’s probably the most unsexy thing he’s ever heard, but somehow, between the wrecked voice and completely Cas-phrased request, it’s enough.

The world goes white.

It’s like every nerve he has is firing at once. His skin tingles and warmth spreads from his belly to the tips of his fingers and toes, painting his skin pink as he gasps for breath, throat raw. Dean can’t even remember saying anything, but from the way Cas is looking at him, he’s sure he must have. Leaning forward, the dark-haired man cups his hunter’s face, placing a soft, wet kiss to his lips before pulling back with a smile. “Dean,” he states, awed.

“’S my name,” Dean grins, nuzzling his nose to Castiel’s cheek. He feels like he's composed entirely of jelly. “Mmm, Cas. My Cas. ‘S you.”

“Yeah.”

They yawn.

And it’s only when they yawn that Dean thinks they should really clean up before sleeping, which makes him think of bed, which makes him think of his bed, which makes him think that this mattress is so not memory foam.

Of course it’s not, this is Sam’s room.

And then Dean laughs. Big. Loud. Unbridled. Because oh my God, if Sam ever found out, he’d fucking end them both.

“Dean?”

“Cas, this is _Sam’s room_.”

He’s almost not expecting the former angel to get it, but Castiel surprises him yet again, eyes widening to saucers as he looks around as if for the first time. “Oh fuck,” he murmurs, mortified.

Which is maybe also hilarious, so Dean laughs harder. Cas, of his part, has never heard such a pure, joyful sound pass the hunter’s lips, and can’t help joining in. So yes, from an outsider perspective, they’re two pleasure-dazed, pleasure- _stained_ grown men, giggling like schoolgirls in Sam’s room.

Dean doesn’t even consider the outsider perspective.

Instead, he helps Cas to the bathroom, hands him a warm washcloth and some pajamas, and tells him to clean up, kissing him quick as he runs off to do the same. “Can we give helping each other a rain check?” he asks nervously. “I don’t-”

Castiel presses their mouths together. “If a rain check means wait, then I am perfectly okay with that.”

“Okay,” Dean breathes. “Okay, cool. Good. I’ll- we can sleep in my room, if you want.”

Cas smiles, holding up both the towel and his pjs. “I’ll be there.”

Saying goodbye proves to be difficult, even though Dean knows they’ll be like ten feet away from each other for five minutes. He’s not sure why he feels that way, and it’s freaking him out a little, but he ignores it in favour for kissing Cas some more. His angel tastes really good, and he’s warm, and Dean doesn’t actually want to have sex, even though he’s getting kinda hard again. He really just wants to spend the rest of forever kissing Cas.

But at some point, Castiel kicks him out of the bathroom, claiming that he feels like his thighs are gluing together. Dean deems this a legitimate reason to stop kissing and goes to clean up himself.

Roughly fifteen minutes later, he and Cas are staring at the bed.

“So, I guess we just…?” Dean asks awkwardly.

To his complete surprise, Castiel _rolls his eyes_ and tugs Dean onto the bed almost in exasperation, burrowing under the covers and taking his hunter with him. They cuddle and kiss lazily, entangled in each other, and for the first time possibly ever, Dean feels completely safe and _happy_.

So, maybe this is the first New Year’s Eve in years that he hasn’t been out hunting, or getting wasted and subsequently laid. Maybe this New Year’s Eve is the tamest and lamest thing he’s ever done to celebrate.

But honestly? 

It wins by a landslide.


End file.
